All Of Us
by scrub456
Summary: Hawkeye is dead. Thanos killed him with the snap of his fingers. Clint has a score to settle. Natasha has a plan. *This story is NOT a fix-it and it is NOT a spoiler. Written prior to having seen Endgame*
1. Chapter 1

*AUTHOR NOTE AS OF 4/27/19 at 3:45 PM EST*

I wrote this story and posted it on AO3 days before I saw Avengers: Endgame. This story, in entirety, is based off my thoughts from Clint's appearance in the first trailer for the film and nothing more. It is NOT a spoiler and any similarities to the film are coincidental. I have since seen it. It's brilliant. And I'm not sad about the direction this story went. Actually, I'm quite pleased with parts of it, now that I know. If you've seen it, you'll have an idea, if not, I'm not telling.

* * *

"It's him," Natasha exhaled slowly and shifted her hold on the umbrella.

"You're sure? I don't have visuals. Can you get any closer?" The security camera on the front of a looted and burned out electronics shop - despite having been abandoned, the red and yellow neon lights of the overhead sign still buzzed and flickered - swiveled around, slowly sweeping down the crowded street.

_Crowded._ Natasha had been here before. In the sweltering heat of midsummer, the streets had been teeming with humanity. It hadn't seemed possible for so many people to occupy one small street. The surge of life had coursed around her, the cacophonous thrum of society existing had been nearly overwhelming.

Crowded? Not a single person had bumped her shoulder, tangled their umbrella together with hers, or tripped her up in over six city blocks. Crowded. No. Not crowded. This place hadn't truly been crowded, hadn't overflowed with people, in months. Not since Thanos… Not since that day.

_The Decimation._ That's what they were calling it.

There were people, though. Far more than she was comfortable with, considering her errand; life continued on after all. What more could they do?

"Nat?" Steve's voice in her ear drew her focus back to their target. She paused, fidgeted with the grip on the umbrella handle, and squared her shoulders.

"It's him." She started walking again, the umbrella held low and her collar turned up. "You'll see what he wants you to see."

"That doesn't even make sense," Scott's voice crackled and the comlink screeched with feedback.

"What the hell?" Natasha hissed as she tucked her chin into her collar. She stopped suddenly, no one bumped into her back, when a shadow shifted down a dank alleyway. A moment later a rat scurried out. She pursed her lips, but stayed otherwise motionless.

"It's this darn headset. I didn't know Fisher-Price actually made a baby's first spy kit." Scott grumbled as the telltale sound of an old school mic being adjusted made Natasha wince.

"You get the big boy headset back when you put it back together," Rhodey snapped. "Until then, you lose com privileges." There was the sound of a struggle, and the feed with the static was quickly cut off. "Damn techie, bad as Tony. Gonna be the death of me," he muttered as he came back on line.

"Can't leave you boys alone for one hour…" Natasha's words trailed off. Remaining still in her spot, she twisted the umbrella grip.

Steve cleared his throat. "Nat." The camera over a deli - an oddity for the location, though it was actually open for business - caught her eye then swiveled away.

"Got him." She followed the angle of the camera to the man exiting the laundry thirty yards ahead of her. Superbly tailored suit. Three, no... four concealed weapons. Stood a head taller than nearly everyone on the street, his shoulders were twice as broad. He scanned the crowd, smirked, and took one step out from under the awning.

"Biometric scans confirm identity, Miss Romanoff," F.R.I.D.A.Y. verified. "Proceed to target with extreme caution."

"You know me," she winked at the electronics store camera and turned the umbrella grip a quarter turn left.

"That's the problem," Steve sighed at the same moment Rhodey huffed, "shit."

Before there was time to act, before he could even cry out, the man in the suit fell right where he stood. Already dead as he crumpled to the ground.

The crowd parted around him, barely, and left him lay in the growing puddle of grime and blood. No one stopped to help, or paused long enough to catch a glimpse of his attacker. Someone mumbled, "lucky bastard" as they walked past Natasha.

The world moved on, weary of seeing. Of caring. Of feeling.

No one but Natasha, frozen to her spot, paid any mind to the hooded figure standing still as a statue over the dead man.

"It's..." Steve whispered.

The man wiped the gore from his blade on the crook of his arm, sheathed his weapon on his back, and lowered the hood.

"Clint." Not even a whisper, Natasha mouthed his name. He turned his head just enough - she would recognize that profile anywhere.

"Positive identity," F.R.I.D.A.Y. began. "Barton, Clint. Aliases: Hawkeye, Ronin-"

"Not now," Rhodey cut the A.I. off. "Send it to Bruce, with anything else you find about where he's been since his incarceration."

"Clint." Natasha breathed his name again and took a step toward him. He made a quick gesture, pulled the hood back over his head, and seemed to melt into the crowd.

Rhodey growled. "Where the hell did he go?"

"That signal," Steve paused and seemed to reconsider. "Nat? What was that."

"I know where he's going." She twisted the umbrella grip hard to the right, closed it, and turned quickly back against the natural flow of the pedestrians around her.

"You've been there before." Natasha could hear Steve beginning to understand.

"Hell. Twenty minutes." Scott cut in, without the static or feedback.

"_What_? Lang, I swear to god." The threat was sincere in Rhodey's tone.

"Arrow guy's signal." Scott clarified. "He said 'Hell. Twenty minutes.'"

Steve snorted. "How could you possibly know that?"

"He's right," Natasha glanced up at a camera and grinned.

"But-" Steve scoffed.

"American Sign Language," Scott explained. "Cassie's best friend is deaf."

"So you… you learned sign language?" Rhodey sounded stunned, and a little impressed.

"Wouldn't you?" Scott laughed.

"Scott, that's…" There was no hiding the fact that Steve too was impressed.

"Alright, boys. I'm glad we're all friends again." Natasha shouldered her way through a group of elderly men standing around a window with a television broadcasting the world news. "Let's not forget the point of all of this. You need to get ready. He's not going to be happy to see any of you."

"And where are you going?" Steve turned another camera to follow Natasha's progress.

"Exactly where Clint said." She checked the time on a scrolling sign she passed. "I've got fifteen minutes to get to hell."

* * *

A/N

Clint's signal is in ASL for a reason. I know not everything translates 100% from the comics to the screen, but one thing I think it's unfortunate that Marvel Studios glazed over is the fact that Clint is deaf. So, this is my little shout out. An attempt at at least a bit of representation.


	2. Chapter 2

By comparison, it absolutely was not the worst place she'd ever slept. Didn't even crack the top ten. That didn't mean there was anything good about it at all. It was bad. Very, very bad.

The sign out front advertising vacancies was translated, poorly, into six different languages. The facade had always been ugly, but had begun to crumble and wear away even more so than the last time. The area was known for violence and crime; now an eerie stillness hung heavy over the deserted neighborhood.

Natasha kicked aside some discarded garbage and tugged the rusted, broken door open. A single fluorescent light buzzed and flickered overhead, casting the run-down lobby - if the tiny, grimy room could even be called that - in weak, dingy grey light. An ancient, frail looking woman sat behind the desk. The same woman who sat there ten, or was it _fifteen,_ years prior.

Exhaling slowly, she dropped her shoulders, ducked her head, and approached the woman with feigned meekness. She spoke to the woman in her native tongue, intentionally poorly, and slid too much money across the counter. The woman held out a key attached to a ridiculously large key chain with her boney, gnarled hand. Natasha nodded her thanks.

"Same as before." The woman's voice was rough with disuse.

"I don't know what-" Natasha paused as they studied one another. "You remember me?"

"You fix things." The woman patted her hand then collected the cash from the counter.

"We do our best." Standing up straight, Natasha shoved the key in her pocket. "Try to."

"Fix this." It was a plea born of sorrow and the heaviness of this new life. She glanced at a small photograph taped to the wall behind her, then looked quickly down to her hands. Natasha recalled the woman's son and his wife. From the picture she could see they'd had children since she saw them last. "_Please._" The woman whispered.

With more confidence than she actually felt, Natasha forced a smile. "That's why I'm here. _We'll_ get them back." When the woman didn't respond, she turned and took the dark narrow hallway to her room.

"Nat," Steve's voice cracked. There was nothing technical to it. "You can't… I don't know if this will…"

"Steve, it will work." She stopped in front of a warped, dirty door. The painted on numbers were chipped and flaking, but corresponded with the numbers painted on her keychain. Same room as before. Shushing Steve before he could say anything else, she paused, using all her senses to get a feel for her surroundings.

"He's here," she whispered. Gripping the umbrella like a baton, she slide the key into the lock.

"You know the plan." Steve kept his voice low. "We're ready when you are."

"Going in." The lock turned with some resistance, but the door knob stuck fast. She turned it left, then right, then harder left and harder right. She rattled it. Took the key out. Put the key in. Rattled it some more. "Damn it!"

"You sure it's the right door? I've done that before. Talk about embarrassing." Scott chimed in.

"Not. Helping." Natasha hissed as she tried to shoulder the door open. Two hits with her full force yielded no results. She tried the doorknob again, and it fell off in her hand. "Screw it." She braced herself to kick the door in when it wrenched open from the inside.

"Sloppy." The usual humor was gone, replaced with a hardness she'd never heard before. "You're losing your touch."

"Clint." Natasha took a step forward. He defensively took two steps back, looked from her eyes to the umbrella at her side, and smirked.

"Come to collect me, have you?" He sniffed and turned away from her, leaving the door open so she could follow. "Recruit me to the cause?"

"We have a plan," she pushed the door shut but didn't bother locking it. He shrugged away from her hand on his shoulder.

"Last time I worked with a team didn't end great." He spat bitterly and turned on her. "I work alone now." His voice cracked and he growled in frustration.

Natasha stood her ground and looked him in the eyes. He looked haggard. Exhausted. Broken. Leaner than he'd ever been, with more severe muscle definition. And scars. More than she cared to number. She took a step nearer. "Laura?"

It was evident he hadn't expect that as a retort. He flinched and grit his teeth. "_Don't._"

"Clint." Another tentative step forward. She clicked the handle on the umbrella once, twice, to the left.

Keeping his eyes focused on her hands, Clint crossed his arms over his chest defensively and shook his head. "No. No, I'm not… I know you. I know you're wired, and I know you've got Steve, or Bruce, or whoever the hell was unfortunate enough to survive this long, on the other end." He exhaled slowly. "I know you know." Barely a whisper.

She did know. She knew and she hated the fact. She knew, they all knew, that Lila and baby Nathaniel had been lost with half the population. They also knew that Laura had been with Cooper on a school trip when the driver, two teachers, and a third of the children on the bus had turned to dust. No one walked away from wreckage. Clint had still been on house arrest when it all went to hell.

Troubling her lower lip with her teeth, Natasha bowed her head. "I'm sor-"

"I said leave it." He ground out and scrubbed his hand roughly down his face.

"Laura… She was my friend," Natasha whispered. "And the baby. Nathaniel…"

"Damn it!" Clint roared as he hurled a lamp across the room. "What do you want from me? Huh?" He stepped into her personal space, and to her credit she ducked her head again. "We were having a snack. Blueberry muffins. That's right, I bake now. I learned how, because what the hell else was I supposed to do, locked in my own house because Rogers and Stark are stubborn assholes?"

He broke then, dropping into a battered chair and burying his face in his hands. "I was holding Nate, when he… My baby turned to dust in my arms. My little girl cried while she crumbled. I tri- I couldn't hold her together. And, it was two days…" He slammed his fist down on the decrepit old desk, and Natasha jumped. "..._days_ before I knew what happened to Cooper and Laura."

"Clint, I…"

"What? _What_ Natasha?" He practically growled. "You have a plan? Get the _gang_ back together? One last hurrah, for old times' sake?" Clint glared up at her. "To hell with that. To hell with _you_." Standing up he leaned in close to her. "Rogers, I know you can hear me. You can fuck off too."


	3. Chapter 3

"I deserve that," Steve mumbled over the otherwise silent com link.

Natasha exhaled deeply and slowly lifted her eyes to meet Clint's cold gaze. "I know you too, Clint."

He narrowed his eyes, but remained silent.

"I know you know exactly who survived. You're a tactician, you do your research." She cocked an eyebrow at him and let the corner of her mouth quirk up. "And I know you tried to break into Stark Industries."

"_Did_ break in," he corrected as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Eh," she shrugged one shoulder at him.

"I was outside, and then I was in."

She did smile then. "F.R.I.D.A.Y. _let_ you in."

Clint's right eye twitched, but he remained unmoved.

"What were you looking for, Clint?" Fidgeting with the umbrella handle, Natasha leaned with one shoulder against the wall. To anyone else, she might have looked too casual, if a bit awkward. Clint recognized the tactic for what it was. He didn't budge.

"You tell me." He squared his shoulders. "Since you know me so well." They stared at each other a moment, two immovable forces.

Natasha nodded slightly. "Your way, then. You went there after you discovered Hank Pym was missing and so was his work into the quantum realm." She paused, and Clint motioned for her to continue with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"You thought Tony would've been experimenting."

"Stark literally weaponized the internet. It only made sense to think he'd got his hands on Pym's work too." Clint dropped his arms to his sides, but his fists remained clenched tight.

"Obviously someone like Tony Stark would go screwing around with the quantum realm." Pushing away from the wall, Natasha stood directly in front of him, arms to her sides, mirroring his own posture. "But what do you know about it, Clint? Why would _you_ go looking for it? Why now?"

Natasha maintained her stance, allowing Clint to study her. His gaze lingered on the umbrella, and when he finally met her eyes she could see, really see, the suffering, the exhaustion, the helplessness. His shoulders slumped and he sighed in defeat.

"I met someone. A woman." He turned away in order to avoid eye contact. "Well, she… She found me."

Natasha cleared her throat. "Clint, it's okay. It's… Laura would…" She reached for his shoulder, and he shrugged her off.

"No." He shook his head and repeated emphatically, "_No._ Not that. Never…" He shook his head again. "No. I," he took a calming breath and pushed his right sleeve up, revealing the telltale scars. "I died. After seeing what I saw, and not being able to stop it. And finding out about Laura and Coop- It killed me, Nat. I couldn't…"

"Clint," Natasha blinked hard against the moisture gathering in her eyes. She reached for him, but dropped her hand abruptly. "Clint, I-"

"I," he nodded to his arm then pushed his sleeve back into place and shrugged. "Was sure I had succeeded. Even saw the bright light." He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "This woman stepped out of the light, and I remember thinking there was no way in hell I was gonna see an angel when I died."

Natasha huffed a quiet laugh. "Good guy Hawkeye? Of course you will."

"Hawkeye is dead, Nat." Clint snapped. "I've got more red in my ledger than you could ever imagine." He closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

"The woman… She spoke some words I didn't understand. Stopped the bleeding. Told me she'd seen me in another realm, and dragged me into the light. A portal." He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

"A portal? Tech or… or magic?" Natasha didn't try to mask her curiosity.

Clint lowered his hand and furrowed his brow. "Magic. How… Do you…"

"Go on," she urged.

"She took me to a place, Kamar-Taj, she called it. Said she'd been there as a student when everyone… When it happened. The Decimation," he spat the last word. "Called herself Ronin. Told me she had spent all the months since searching for answers, for portals to the dimension where the missing might be, or for a way to go back and undo it. Said she would teach me."

"Did she?" Natasha stepped closer to him. "What did she show you?"

"I never learned to open the portals myself," he shook his head. "But I've been there."

"Wait… Where? You've… Clint, you've been _in_ the quantum realm?"

He nodded, barely. "It fucks with your head. I'm… I'm not the same. I've seen… too much, Nat. Too many possibilities. It's not- We aren't… Your plan isn't going to work. Not the way you want it to. Not the way Steve needs it to."

"But it will work."

"With great cost, yes."

"Can she…" Natasha twisted the handle of her umbrella. "Will she help us?"

"She's dead." His face changed then. Harder. Angry. Natasha took a stunned a step back. "A man showed up, crazed, ranting about too many sorcerers. Killed her as she meditated. Right in front of me."

Natasha blanched.

"Ask him if the man's name was Mordo." Rhodey sounded more uncertain than Natasha had ever heard him.

"Who was it, Clint? What was his name?"

"Called himself Mordo." Clint was seething. "A disgraced master."

"Shit," Steve sighed.

Natasha flinched. "Where is he now, do you know?"

"I killed him before he could kill me." All emotion drained from his face.

"He's dead." Natasha reiterated. Clint nodded sharply once. "So you what? Took Ronin's name, wear her colors, and what?"

"I'm going back in there. Into the quantum realm. I'm going to fix this at any cost." He stood rigid, ready for a fight. "And I kill anyone who tries to get in my way."

Natasha stared at him, her face hard and unreadable.

"I told you. I _died_ that day. Hawkeye is dead. I'm not an Avenger. I'm not one of the good guys." He reached for his blade. "I'm Ronin now, and all I want is..."

"We have it." Natasha cut in. Clint glared at her in return. "Pym's work. His portal. We've got it at the compound. Lang showed up one day…"

"Oh god." Clint groaned and Natasha actually laughed.

"But he's been there too. Knows how to get in." She caught his eye and smiled. "He can get in. And you can be guide. We can do this. But we need you."

"It won't work. You'll suffer for it. All of you." He turned his back to her.

"So I should let you suffer alone?" She snapped. "Damn it, Clint. We all lost… We're all broken. You lost more than others, and that, it's shit. I _know._ But you don't have to do this, any of it, by yourself."

"It's impossible. The cost, it's going to be too much. I'm not strong enough, Nat. Not you, not Steve, not even Bruce's big ugly alter ego…"

"We've got Danvers." Natasha whispered.

"What?" Clint turned slowly back to face her. "She… how?"

"Fury contacted her. Before…"

Clint resheathed his blade and sighed. "It's not enough. It won't be enough."

"It _will_ be." She stepped boldly right up to him, showing no hesitation. "But we need you."

"I'm. Not. An. Avenger. That guy is dead."

Without breaking eye contact, Natasha mumbled a quick, "I'm sorry," twisted the handle from her umbrella, and pressed the release, stunning Clint with the I.C.E.R. blast. "Now!"

A portal opened as Clint, conscious but just barely, collapsed backwards into the compound. Bruce and Thor were ready to catch him and haul him off to the infirmary.

"Restrain him," Natasa called after them as Wong assisted her through the portal and let it close behind her. "He's going to be pissed when the shock wears off." She handed Wong Clint's blade and he nodded.

"As I suspected. A relic from the sanctum." He nodded and handed it back. "It chose him. He speaks the truth." Wong shook his head sadly. "Ronin was a good student. She could have been a master." He looked up at Natasha. "I hope your friend-"

"He can. He _will_." She placed a hand on his shoulder.

"What now?" Scott appeared out from behind a bank of monitors. He looked at the bundle of wires in his hand and chucked it carelessly over his shoulder.

"Get your suitcase, Lang." Natasha nodded to the training field just beyond the window. "It's time."

* * *

A/N

*There's a lot of varying comic book lore about how Clint became Ronin. I completely fabricated this one.

*I.C.E.R. is Incapacitating Cartridge Emitting Railgun, a non-lethal stun gun developed by Fitz and Simmons for SHIELD on the show Agents of SHIELD (gotta represent).

*And of course, Scott's suitcase is actually Hank Pym's lab.


End file.
